


Navona

by corngold



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: A Planet Full of Naked People, Absurd Premise, Blake's Incredible Sexiness, M/M, Sexual Tension, Tropey Local Customs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-04
Updated: 2014-01-04
Packaged: 2018-01-07 11:12:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1119162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corngold/pseuds/corngold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blake is looking for a Rebel Base.  Avon is not looking to get into Blake's pants - until they start to come off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Navona

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aralias](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aralias/gifts), [elviaprose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elviaprose/gifts).



> Written for both the 2013 Katyzine and the B7 kink meme.

Navona was a small planet, slightly larger than Earth's moon, with a warm climate and little in the way of dangerous wildlife. Orac told them its inhabitants had settled from Earth originally, shortly after humans had developed space travel. It was not the most remote world the _Liberator_ had ever visited, but it was far enough from Earth as to be relatively safe, and out of the way of the more well-travelled space routes. As a small, lone planet on the fringes of the galaxy, the Federation had dismissed it long ago as irrelevant, and so to Blake it had seemed the most likely of several options Orac had given them as a potential base.

Avon was less sure. Its presumed safety was appealing, certainly—the idea of retiring into poor obscurity was less appealing, and he told Blake so. Blake answered that Avon was free to leave whenever and wherever he chose. Avon replied that that statement did not grow more believable with constant repetition.

They'd reached the teleport bay, still sniping mildly back and forth, to find Jenna, Cally, and Vila huddled around Orac, who was sitting on the console next to the teleport controls.

"—custom has dictated for the past five hundred years, at least," Orac was saying, his electronically-generated voice sounding lofty. Avon clattered down the steps, Blake behind him, and their three other crewmembers straightened quickly. Vila's elbow bumped purposefully into Orac's casing, and the supercomputer fell silent.

Jenna cleared her throat. "Right, good luck," she said, heading past them toward the flight deck.

"Aren't you coming down with me?" Blake asked, and Jenna paused at the top of the stairs and smiled down at him.

"Sorry," she said, "but someone does need to fly the ship."

"Cally can handle the controls."

Jenna shook her head. "This far out, in a relatively unknown sector, I'd rather not take any chances. Something could surprise us." She vanished down the corridor. Blake and Avon turned back to find Vila had seated himself behind the controls, feet propped on the console. He beamed up at them.

"I'll keep an eye on things for you," he offered, and Cally stepped quickly around the console to slide into the chair beside him.

"And I'll keep an eye on Vila," she said.

Blake looked at them a moment, and then shrugged. "All right. Come on then, Avon."

Vila and Cally exchanged a conspiratorial glance and Avon narrowed his eyes, but didn't comment. He went to stand beside Blake on the teleport pad.

"We're putting you down at the agreed-upon coordinates," Cally said. "They're expecting you, although the teleport might take them by surprise."

"We'll try not to seem too intimidating, then," Blake answered with a smile.

Out of Blake's line of sight, Avon carefully unclipped the safety catch of his holster.

~*~

Avon had made it a point never to assume any of Blake's plans would go well. He prepared as best he could, and then expected the worst. But he wouldn't in a million years have expected this.

"Well," he said under his breath, when the surprised silence began to grow awkward. "I thought I heard Orac mention something about the customs, when we came into the room."

"It would have been more helpful if only he'd mentioned it to _us_ ," Blake murmured back.

"Travellers, welcome!" cried one of the locals standing before them, stepping forward and holding out his arms in an expansive gesture. He was elderly, with long silver hair down his back and very tanned skin, and was quite slim and fit for his age. It was easy to tell because, like everyone else standing around them, he was not wearing even a single stitch of clothing. 

"Thank you," Blake answered, only a beat or two late. Shooting a quick glance at him, Avon could see his eyebrows had almost hidden themselves under the fringe of curls at his forehead, and looked to be in no hurry to emerge, but otherwise he appeared calm. "My name is Blake," he told the man. "This is Avon."

"I am Zeppe, an elder of this planet."

Blake held out his hand, and the elderly man smiled widely and took it in his own. "An old fashioned greeting," he said.

"Quaint," remarked one of the others.

"As are the garments," added a third. "You must be from the Federation."

"Not quite," Blake answered. "But we are from Earth."

"I think it is charming," said the elder. "Here on Navona we long ago gave up such ritual greetings, originally intended to reassure both parties that each is unarmed. We take a more direct approach."

"So we see," Blake said mildly.

"But we are armed," Avon pointed out with a humourless grin, resting a hand on the gun strapped at his side and carefully trying not to focus on…anyone.

"And that's easily taken care of," Blake said quickly, as the elder frowned.

Avon grit his teeth and muttered, "That wasn't what I meant."

"It would be greatly appreciated," Zeppe said to Blake, with dignity. 

Blake was already unbuckling his gun belt. Avon swung round, turning his back to the crowd of people watching them expectantly and stepping closer so they couldn't be overheard.

"I am not giving up our weapons to an unknown people on an unknown planet!" he hissed.

"We need their assistance, Avon."

" _You want_ their assistance, Blake, there is a difference." Avon took hold of Blake's arm as he tugged his gun holster from his waist, and Blake paused only long enough to give Avon a brief, intense look. Avon rolled his eyes and found himself backing down, reaching for the buckle of his own holster before he'd even realised he was giving in. "Next you'll be suggesting we strip down to the levels of local custom," he joked.

"That would also be appreciated," Zeppe said pleasantly, and Avon stopped and looked up, first at the elder, then at Blake, in alarm.

Blake had paused as well, but then he shrugged and said, "Why not?"

"I can think of several reasons."

"It's polite, Avon, and it's not as if it really matters, does it?"

Blake had pulled off his tunic, and his fingers were working their way down his shirt buttons. Avon watched their progress, somehow unable to look away. Blake shrugged out of the shirt and his bare chest gleamed in the sunlight. Avon swallowed and wondered if he'd gotten heat stroke, or if the madness of this planet was infecting him.

"Is there somewhere you can keep our things, until we're ready to leave?" Blake asked, and Zeppe nodded.

"Of course," he said, and gestured forward a handsome young couple. The woman's hair was long and braided as Zeppe's was, but the man at her side wore his cut short at ear-length. "Milo and Zera will take care of them for you."

"Thank you," Blake said, handing his shirt and tunic to Zera. Milo knelt at Blake's feet to take his shoes, and Avon swallowed again at the sight, throat dry. Blake unzipped his trousers and tugged them down with his pants, stepping carefully back and out of both.

Avon had never considered the possibility of standing next to a naked Roj Blake. He had very deliberately never considered it. Now, faced with the reality, he wasn't quite sure what to do with his hands. Or where to look instead, because he knew he oughtn't to be looking at Blake. And then Blake glanced up and caught him staring, making it a moot point.

He frowned, expression worried. "Avon? Come on, then." He stepped closer. "It's a bit uncomfortable," he admitted quietly, "but I'd rather not embarrass our hosts."

Avon fought down a hysterical laugh, but couldn't focus enough to think of any better response. He fixed his eyes on Blake's, knowing that if he glanced down Blake's body, it would all be over. Embarrass their hosts? Avon was embarrassed enough for all of them. A brief, giddy thought washed over him, a wish that he and Blake were alone so Avon could run his hands across Blake's shoulders and pin him up against a wall—maybe follow Milo's example and kneel at Blake's feet, and then take Blake into his mouth and tease him into a frenzy. He felt his face flush.

"Are you all right?"

And when Avon couldn't find anything to say, Blake reached forward and carefully began undoing the snaps of his shirt collar.

The quiet roll of arousal that had been building low in his belly flared bright and hot, and Avon smacked Blake's hands away, covering his reaction with a snarl and tugging the buttons undone himself. Blake raised his hands peaceably and stepped back. Avon's hands were shaking.

Blake turned to give him some privacy, making polite conversation with Zeppe while Avon tugged off his tunic and thrust it at the waiting Zera.

Blake was an attractive man—Avon knew that, he was hardly blind. What he _was_ was entirely unwilling to make a fool of himself over it. The celebrated hero of the resistance was articulate and charming, with raw charisma enough to have the entire galaxy starry-eyed in love with him. He was a natural leader, and he was naturally friendly, where Avon was wont to prefer his own company—but not once had Avon seen Blake display the slightest interest in another person romantically. The man seemed to be celibate and married to his cause. At times it gave Avon the mad urge to do something drastic, just to watch him react. Stripping down to nude in front of him seemed perilously close to fitting the bill, but Blake's own clinical disrobing had already established an air of disinterest in the whole affair, and Avon was determined to match it.

At least this planet had a warm climate, he told himself, focusing his gaze resolutely on a patch of sky above Blake's head and beginning work on his belt. It felt like every eye was on him, and he congratulated himself grimly on the fact that he did not have an exhibitionist streak. His reaction to watching Blake undress was not completely dispelled, but it was deadened enough to keep Avon from embarrassing himself any further. He refused to think about whether having Blake's eyes on him as well might make a difference. He had a feeling he wouldn’t like the answer.

~*~

They were led to large pavilion, hung with gauzy drapes and sheltering a long, low table surrounded by cushions. Despite his best intentions, Avon's gaze strayed briefly to Blake as they sat and were offered a collection of figs, cured meats, and cheeses. Blake looked up to smile automatic thanks at the young woman serving him. Avon watched his cheeks go briefly pink, before Blake turned back to Zeppe and started in on a series of polite and sensible questions about the planet and their customs. The slight crack in his apparent ease made Avon feel marginally better.

Still, Blake seemed far more composed than Avon felt. Any other time, Avon thought sourly, the prospect of being surrounded by a bevy of nude men and women, quite a few of whom were not at all unattractive, might have seemed an appealing one. He could hardly believe Vila, having known what awaited them down here, had refused the chance to come.

Then again, it had apparently required stripping down, oneself, and with one's self-appointed captain standing alongside. Vila talked a good talk, but when it came down to it he was an unashamed coward. 

Avon had an image of Blake reaching for the buttons of Vila's shirt, as he had Avon's, and had to fight down an abrupt wave of jealousy. Oh terrific, he thought, taking a long gulp from the glass of wine someone had just set by his hand.

Blake carried the conversation along well, and after being surreptitiously elbowed in the ribs twice, Avon did his best to join in. His jaw felt tight when he tried to smile, and he found it difficult to force pleasantries out of his mouth when his eyes kept threatening to wander across the bare flesh of those around him. It was instinctive, he knew, but that didn't keep it from feeling any less embarrassing. The meal was not a comfortable one.

The evening, when it came, was almost as warm as the day had been. A gentle wind swept through, rustling the drapes, and the stars shone as brightly as they did in space. Zeppe stood and motioned Blake and Avon to their feet, suggesting they resume their conversation in the morning. They followed him down a path that wove between rocks and night-blooming flowers and a scattering of smaller, brightly lit pavilions. The silhouettes of the families living within them were clear to be seen. Privacy of any sort, Avon thought, was definitely not a concern on this planet.

A twist in the path brought them, at last, to what Zeppe indicated would be their quarters. Avon bade their host good night and made for the door without hesitating, but Blake paused.

"Do you think we might trouble you…" His voice dropped low enough that Avon could no longer hear it, though he saw Zeppe nod at whatever the question had been, and motion Blake to follow him. Avon left them to it and ducked behind the drape that seemed to serve as their door, surveying their quarters rather than glancing over his shoulder to survey Blake's nude form as he walked down the path. It was more difficult than he'd expected it to be, particularly as, in the absence of visual data, his imagination was supplying him with all manner of speculations.

The pavilion they'd been loaned was larger than those they'd passed, and included what appeared to be shared facilities: a sunken pool and an elaborate fountain. The pool was surrounded by more bright, colourful pillows than seemed strictly necessary for a bath, and Avon concluded, a little doubtfully, that it must double as a sitting room. A small, ornate table sat to one side and held delicate glasses and a pitcher of silver-gold wine.

Yet more drapes served to divide the rest of the room into two relatively separate spaces, each containing a low, comfortable looking bed and little else. Pale paper lanterns hung in strings from the ceiling. All in all it was an attractive display of beauty and comfort. Avon eyed it with distrust and was considering appropriating one of the drapes and wrapping it round himself when Blake cleared his throat behind him.

"On loan from the bathhouse," he said, holding out a handful of dove grey silk. Avon took it and shook it out—it was a short-cut dressing gown, not the most modest garment he'd ever seen but under the circumstances positively conservative, and he slid his arms through it gratefully and belted it tightly around his waist.

"They'd like us to refrain from wearing them when we're in company," Blake continued, slipping his own on. It was very dark green—black where the silk hung in folds and jewel-like where it caught the light. "But Zeppe assured me that in the privacy of our own rooms we can revert to whatever off-worlder oddities we might wish." He smiled, dropping onto the pillows next to the fountain, but he looked tired. "Well," he said, glancing up at Avon with significance. Avon stared back down at him and raised an eyebrow. Blake laced his fingers together. "An unexpected development, but not an insurmountable one."

Avon laughed shortly and moved to pour himself a drink.

"Good idea," Blake said, and Avon heard him stand again with a groan and follow him to the table. He could feel the warmth from Blake's body through the thin silk, could feel Blake's breath huff across the back of his neck, and he fought down a sudden desire to abandon the wine and turn and tug Blake into a kiss, to take handfuls of his hair and drag his head back and bite at his neck, to pull him down to the pillows and wrap his legs around Blake's waist and urge him on top, urge him in.

Might their hosts have provided any lubricant? he wondered a bit hysterically, shuddering involuntarily and downing the half-glass he'd poured himself in one gulp. His self-control was usually better, he thought, as Blake made a noise of innocent amusement behind him and reached around him for the wine. His self-control was usually impeccable.

He moved out of the way, and Blake retrieved a glass and poured a healthy measure. Avon held out his own wordlessly, and Blake refilled it.

"Just what had you in mind for this rebel base of yours, Blake?" he asked, forcing himself not to drain his glass a second time. "Considering what I _thought_ I knew of you—" He grinned and then, as Blake rolled his eyes, grinned wider still. "I had pictured an efficiently run control force, fighting for justice and the freedom of all mankind. But if you think this will serve your needs equally—well. Perhaps I ought to readjust my expectations."

Blake shook his head and settled back into the pillows again. The lamplight caught the wine in his glass as he raised it, sending shimmers of gold and silver across his face. "There are worse things in the universe than going without clothing, Avon," he said.

Avon graced this comment with a snort. "That is neither here nor there, Blake. This planet is not our last, best hope. You are not in the unfortunate position of offering the peoples of the universe a choice between the rule of the federation, or sanctuary on a nudist colony." He sat carefully across from Blake and flashed him another grin. "Or perhaps you really did mean freedom in all measures."

Blake chuckled, his expression fond. "Whether people choose to wear clothing or not is none of my business." He ran a hand through his curls. "How did we get onto this ridiculous conversation?"

"Oh," Avon teased, and felt his heart pounding, "where to begin?"

Blake laughed outright and took another drink. Avon watched his throat work, eyes automatically following the flexing tendons down toward Blake's chest. He hadn't belted his robe as tightly as Avon had, and the silk had slid and gaped into a deep vee. The skin of his chest seemed impossibly smooth, and Avon took another sip of wine to keep himself from climbing on top of Blake and pushing the silk further aside and running his tongue across every inch he could reach.

He shifted uncomfortably on the pillows, and his eyes dropped further, without his permission, to Blake's legs, pale against the dark green. He'd assumed the robes would help, he recollected, as his eyes slid along the lines of Blake's calves and his fingers itched to follow them. He'd been under the impression that nudity was as sexual as it could get. He swallowed. He'd been wrong—this was worse. Better. Far more intense. The robe, and what it concealed, worked like an inspiration: a tease, a challenge. He knocked back the rest of his wine and stood, making his way toward the table.

"More?" he asked, without turning round.

There was a pause before Blake said, "No, thank you." His voice was even and clear, but Avon felt the sudden, substantial weight of his gaze on his back. There was a brief silence. "Is it so awful?" Blake asked, voice soft.

There was no safe answer to that, so Avon said nothing, staring unseeing at the draped walls of the pavilion while Blake stared at him. It was. It wasn't. It was Blake, it was only Blake. Anything else might have been uncomfortable, but bearable. Blake, though, was irresistible. When they got back to the _Liberator_ , he'd take Orac to pieces for this.

The wine he'd drunk with and after dinner caught up to him in a rush, and the room seemed to swirl gently around him, like a seduction. Five more seconds in Blake's presence would send him reeling into the man's arms, self-control be damned.

"I'm going to bed," he said, setting his wine down abruptly. The glass clinked gently against the marble table top. Blake didn’t say anything as he left.

~*~

The next morning dawned bright and beautiful. Avon opened his eyes and stared up at the canopied ceiling and considered the day ahead of them: nude Avon, nude Blake, nude strangers, negotiations in the nude and, eventually, a return to _Liberator_ —hopefully, if their hosts allowed it, _not_ in the nude. He considered the itchy, anxious arousal still clawing softly under his skin, no less strong for having been thwarted last night by shared quarters and Avon's self-respect, and longed for the privacy of his own cabin.

The fountain had kept him awake for hours, when he'd woken during the night. Its noise had faded gradually to a background murmur, and he'd forgotten its existence completely, until a series of louder splashes drew his attention. He lay there and listened to Blake bathing, and then swore quietly and turned to bury his face in a pillow. The embroidery scratched along his nose, and he rolled onto his back again and considered chucking the pillow across the pavilion.

His own bath didn't improve his mood much, though a meal made him feel more human, and he suffered gamely through another few hours of conversation with Zeppe. The planet was beautiful, the people were kind, and the elder assured them that, should they wish it, they would always be welcome. Avon privately thought he'd have to be dragged back kicking and screaming, but Blake thanked Zeppe warmly and shook his hand again. Zeppe looked delighted by the gesture, like a child with a novel present, and then had Zera and Milo return their clothes, neatly folded.

"I hope you don’t mind if we dress here, before we go back," Blake said, and Zeppe shook his head and motioned him to proceed.

Avon was already pulling on his trousers.

~*~

Clothing was a relief, but it was a surprise how comforting he found the cool of the _Liberator_ , the sleek white halls, and the black of space. Navona might have been like the Eden of old Earth legend, but Eden, Avon decided, had been vastly overrated.

"Well?" asked Vila. He and Cally were watching them with a mix of interest and trepidation. "How'd it go?"

Avon stared back at them coolly, then headed up the stairs and toward his own cabin, leaving silence behind him.

He assumed a mixture of cowardice and discretion would keep the rest of the crew from disturbing him, so the knock on his door was a surprise. And then Blake’s voice called, “Avon?” through the speaker, and Avon set down the datapad he’d been reading idly through with a quiet, ' _Ah._ ' Blake was no coward, certainly, and discretion had never been one of his stronger qualities, so it wasn’t much of a surprise after all. Still, Avon had thought Blake might have had enough of his company in the last twenty four hours. He briefly considered remaining silent, and then called out, “Come in, then.”

He heard the door slide open but didn’t bother looking up. The soft fall of Blake’s footsteps crossed the room, and the rustle of fabric followed, and then nothing. Avon felt a twinge of curiosity, smirked at it and himself, and turned. Blake had settled into the room’s only chair, legs crossed and fingers woven together, and was looking at him expectantly. It echoed the pose he’d adopted among the pillows of their pavilion, wearing nothing but a silk robe, and Avon felt a thrum of heat flare through him. He blinked, and it settled. His face was calm, he knew, but he had no idea what his eyes might have given away, in that brief, unguarded moment. 

No doubt, he told himself, Blake would not have noticed anyway. “Well?” he asked.

“I’d like your advice.”

“My advice?” Avon laughed shortly. “‘Keep looking.’”

“It—” Blake hesitated, and then admitted, “—was a trifle unexpected.”

“Mmm.”

“But the climate’s good, the people are friendly. The Federation has all but forgotten its existence. Surely those outweigh any…”

“Inconvenience?” Avon offered, with raised eyebrows.

“Discomfort.”

Avon leaned back against the edge of his desk, facing Blake across the room and crossing his arms over his chest. "I think I'd prefer five rounds of torture with Travis," he said baldly, “than to repeat that experience.”

Blake let out a breath in what was almost a laugh, and rubbed his thumb and forefinger across his forehead to his temples. "Or a shopping trip with Servalan," he agreed.

Avon grinned before he could stop himself. “Now, that doesn’t sound half bad,” he replied, picturing Servalan’s bright, dangerous smile and expensive wardrobe. 

He was distracted enough by the image that he only vaguely heard Blake say, “I rather thought you might have finally done something, while we were down there. It was the perfect opportunity, after all.”

“Done something about what?” he asked carelessly.

“About,” Blake said clearly, “the, as Vila put it, ‘rampant sexual tension’ between us.”

Avon snapped out of his imagination and back into the present so quickly he felt dizzy. Or perhaps, he thought, it was the steady way Blake was looking at him that was making him feel as though the room were tilting all directions. 

Blake stood, now, a scant few feet away, facing Avon with his own arms crossed. Avon uncrossed his own automatically, and then pressed his palms against the edge of the desk for balance. “The what?” he said stupidly.

“I think you heard,” Blake answered quietly.

“I—there is no tension.” The floor was still swaying under his feet. There was no up or down in space, he thought giddily, and blurted, “You’ve never noticed a single person—” 

The words came out of his mouth, sounding plaintive and unsure, too late to stop them. There _wasn’t_ any sexual tension between them, he thought desperately. He had always been sure that what existed was all his, and went only one way. But he’d hardly needed to admit that to Blake. 

Too late now. He cleared his throat, getting his voice back under control. “Even,” he said, pleased to hear his tone cool, “when surrounded by a colony of attractive nudists, happy to offer you every courtesy, you barely batted an eyelid.”

Even with one of them kneeling at your feet, his treacherous mind added, and he flushed.

“I didn’t particularly want to,” Blake answered. “And Cally says that you’ve never noticed me ‘noticing anyone’ because you whip your head around whenever I glance your way. To keep me from noticing you noticing me, or so Jenna informs—”

“Blake—stop,” Avon ordered, holding up a hand and trying to get his muddled thoughts in order. He wasn’t sure whether he wanted to hunt down the rest of their meddlesome crew, or just stand there in his cabin and laugh at how ridiculous the situation was turning out to be. “Are you telling me,” he asked, “that they sent us down to that planet together in an attempt at _matchmaking_?”

“It would seem so,” Blake said wryly. He had his index finger between his teeth, and Avon saw the tip of his tongue press briefly along the edge of the nail before he closed his mouth and let his hand drop to his side. Avon stared at his mouth and wondered whether it were too soon, in light of these revelations, to step forward and pull Blake into a kiss and tease the tongue into a reappearance. 

“Do you know,” Blake said, voice low and warm, “that look in your eyes is possibly the most seductive thing I’ve ever seen.”

Avon decided it was definitely not too soon, and reached out as Blake stepped forward. He took a handful of Blake’s tunic and tugged, and wrapped his arms tightly around Blake’s waist as Blake’s lips came down on his. For one delicate, heady second, Avon held him and felt Blake’s chest pressed to his, felt his heart pounding. He didn’t breathe, didn’t think, unwilling to shatter the moment and half afraid one or the other of them would come to their senses. 

Then one of Blake’s hands pressed at the small of his back and Avon pulled him closer still, opening his mouth and deepening the kiss with intent. Blake gasped and rocked forward into him, and Avon tried to hike himself onto the desk at his back and heard it crack as they half-collapsed onto it. Blake managed to catch them with one hand against the wall, but his other arm was still wrapped around Avon’s back and Avon’s were still around his waist. They landed in a heap on the broken desk.

“This isn’t quite what I had imagined,” Avon admitted breathlessly.

“Oh,” Blake answered, “had you imagined, then?”

“Mmm.”

Blake kissed him again, a long, sweet press of lips, then drew back. Avon dragged one of his arms free and twisted his fingers into Blake’s hair, and Blake leaned obligingly back down, kissing at the corner of Avon’s mouth and then biting sharply at his jaw. Avon hissed and bucked his hips into Blake’s.

“You have no idea how discouraging it was,” Blake murmured, between kisses trailing back toward Avon’s mouth, “seeing you look at me with that heat in your eyes and then turn and take yourself off to bed. God, how I wanted you.”

“Well now, if you’d made even the slightest sign—” He made an indignant sound as Blake nipped at his lower lip. 

“The slightest sign? _Avon._ ” Blake pushed himself off, removing Avon’s hand from his hair when Avon tried to convince him not to go by tugging. He laced their fingers together, shifted his weight, and settled between Avon’s legs, nudging his knees wider with an elbow. Avon’s breath caught in his throat. “I draped myself all over the pillows, as invitingly as I could.” His fingers tugged at Avon’s belt. Avon’s free hand scrambled to help, but it wasn’t easy: he couldn’t take his eyes off of Blake’s face to see what they were doing. “I had that dressing gown half undone.” Avon’s trousers finally came loose, and Blake gently pushed Avon’s free hand away. “And there were you, staring at me with sex in your eyes, and god, Avon.” He raised their intertwined fingers and kissed Avon’s hand, and then leaned forward and kissed Avon’s erection, still half caught in his pants. Avon whimpered and threaded his fingers back through Blake’s hair, and Blake kissed him again and then pushed the remainders of his clothing aside and swallowed him down. Avon swore and threw his head back. It smacked painfully against the desk top. 

Blake drew off. “Are you all—”

“I’m fine,” Avon gasped, “I’m fine, come on.”

Blake raised an eyebrow, and then grinned up at him. “Are you sure?” he asked wickedly.

“You’ll see how sure I am—” The rest of that threat trailed off into a breathy sound, which Avon decided was just as well. He felt distinctly lacking in inspiration, but Blake seemed to be inspired enough for the both of them. Avon clutched at Blake’s fingers and did his best to stay quiet—or at least, to hold back a meagre percentage of the obscene sounds fighting to escape his mouth. Blake probably knew, by now—in fact he’d as much as said he did—how crazy for him Avon was, but there was no need to drive it home. Difficult though that was to remember when Blake was doing that particular thing with his tongue…

Avon managed to keep completely silent through the most shattering orgasm he’d had in years. The effort left him gasping for breath in the aftermath, and he became aware only gradually of Blake pressing soft, urgent kisses against his throat. Avon raised arms that seemed made of lead and half flung them, half dropped them across Blake’s back, and Blake murmured inarticulately into his neck.

“Hmm?” Avon murmured.

“I _said_ —”

Avon shifted under Blake’s weight and sighed in contentment. Blake’s hips thrust against Avon’s leg, seemingly involuntarily, and he groaned Avon’s name.

“Why didn’t you say something?” Avon asked, still floating gently down from the high of his orgasm.

“What?” Blake asked, sounding dazed.

“If you knew. Why didn’t you say earlier?”

Blake groaned again, this time sounding carried away less by desire and more by irritation. “Do you really want to talk, _now_?”

Avon laughed, breathlessly because Blake’s weight had him near pinned. Something was digging into his back, Avon realised. His datapad. Hopefully it hadn’t broken in the fall, though he couldn’t really find it in himself to care.

“Why not?”

“Because I’m going out of my mind, that’s—”

“No, I meant, ‘why didn’t you say?’”

“ _Avon_ ,” said Blake, warningly.

“Mmm,” Avon said, eyes closed, smiling. “ _Blake._ ”

A tremor shot through the body above him, and Blake groaned into his ear. “Avon, can I—please—” His hand wrapped around Avon’s thigh, lifting suggestively.

“Yes, if you can carry me to the bed,” Avon answered. “I draw the line at being shagged on a pile of rubble. And—” he added, as Blake began to push himself to his feet, “if you answer my question first.”

“After?”

“Now.”

He opened his eyes to find Blake standing over him, obviously very aroused, and glaring down. It was enough to make even his spent body twitch in anticipation.

“You’re just doing this for the sake of it, aren’t you?”

“Perhaps,” Avon admitted. “I’d like to know.”

Blake sighed and reached down, offering a hand. “I’m not carrying you like a sack of grain,” he told Avon, in response to the raised eyebrow. 

Avon acknowledged that this might be a bit much to ask, and took Blake’s hand, and stumbled to his feet. They almost went down again amongst the shards of Avon’s desk, but Blake held them steady. Once he’d caught his balance Avon looked up to see Blake’s face inches away, and on impulse leaned forward and kissed him. The shock of pleasure that flew through him at being able to do such a thing, at last, seemed to make his heart skip, and he wrapped a hand around Blake’s neck and pulled him in and did it again.

“Tell me.”

“I said,” Blake gasped, “you were free to leave whenever you chose.”

“Hmm?” 

“Before we went to the planet. _Avon_.”

“Ah, yes.” Blake was walking them backwards, toward the bed. Avon tugged thoughtfully at the buttons of his tunic, considering this latest revelation, and Blake caught his hand, pushed it aside, and began to tug at them himself. 

“It wouldn’t have been right, after that,” he murmured, voice low, and then mouthed at Avon’s ear. Avon felt Blake drag his own tunic over his shoulders, and caught a brief glimpse of it as it hit the floor, before Blake’s mouth was on his again.

“Offering me an inducement to stay?” Avon asked, between kisses. The back of his knees hit the bed, and he caught hold of Blake’s shirt again and dragged him down too.

“I want you to stay,” Blake said, sounding distracted. “I want you to want to stay.”

“This _is_ an excellent inducement,” Avon agreed.

“I want you to stay for your own reasons.” Blake insisted. “Dammit, I can’t get these undone…”

Avon tossed back his head and laughed as Blake scrambled at his own clothing. “Blake,” he said, taking hold of Blake’s hands and stilling them. “Blake. I’ll stay. We’ll work out the why later.”

Through the haze of lust, Blake’s eyes looked worried, doubtful. So Avon sighed, gathered his gradually returning energy, flipped Blake over onto his back, and set about convincing him.


End file.
